


February Song

by CynicalDaydream



Category: Brother’s Conflict
Genre: Drama, F/M, Humor, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:41:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28457736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CynicalDaydream/pseuds/CynicalDaydream
Summary: Mika Simmons is used to being the parent in her little family of two. After all, somebody has to do it and her mother is hardly qualified. But when tragedy strikes and a whole new family appears that she never knew existed, how does one adjust to no longer being in control?
Relationships: Original female character/various?
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from FanFiction.Net. This has nothing to do with my other completely smutty series. This one has an actual plot.
> 
> Brothers' Conflict is my guilty pleasure. But the problem is, it's too short. There's fanfic, but since it's such a small fandom I can never seem to find any decently-written fics. Something with good grammar and semi-coherent plot. The few I have come across seem to be unfinished and often abandoned.
> 
> So, only solution to that is to just write my own, I guess.
> 
> This idea's been nagging at me for ages. I figure the only way to shut it up is sit down and actually write it. Title taken from Josh Groban's song. Look up the lyrics. May be subject to change.

The funeral parlor had been set with enough chairs to seat fifty attendees, but only a quarter of them were filled. A very few close friends of Abigail Simmons talked quietly amongst themselves in the back; lost in the recollection of good memories, no doubt, before Abigail had taken a turn for the worse.

A few former coworkers who'd felt obligated to pay respects huddled in the back right corner, although Abigail hadn't actually worked in the past ten months as her mental health had slowly deteriorated. They didn't talk much, just sat in their chairs with an air of impatience as they snuck glances at their watches or phones. Most likely they were only there as an excuse to attend the reception afterward and help themselves to the buffet. Nobody bothered to shoo them out, though. No sense letting all that food go to waste.

In the front row reserved for family sat Mika Simmons, her eyes fixed blankly on the small altar that held a portrait of Abigail, taken five years ago, and a small, plain brass urn that was empty of ashes and purely for show, for her cremated body had already been interred.

Mika didn't cry. She hated crying in public and, besides, she had already shed enough tears over the last three days. Tears of grief. Tears of anger. Tears of guilt. Right now, she felt too numb and dried out to feel anything but weary resignation. Her mother was dead. An accidental overdose, the coroner had called it, but Mika was suspicious of it being an accidental _anything_. Abigail has been slipping further and further into her illness, her manic fits increasingly worse and her depression pulling her deeper into despair.

She should have listened to the doctors, Mika thought. She should have had Abigail committed to a state institution, despite the expense of such a thing. Despite the fact that the health insurance had dropped them months ago for suspiciously vague reasons and there was no way for Mika to pay for more medication or hospitalization on her piddling, part-time salary…

A squeeze to her hand dragged her out of her musings and her gaze to the left, where a tall, broad-shouldered woman sat beside her, dressed all in black lace with a ridiculous black veil covering her flaming red hair. "How're you holdin' up there, honey?" Miss Jemima asked in an undertone. "You ready to pack it in and head on over to the gravesite now? Folks are gettin' antsy."

Mika started, glanced around to note the restlessness of the guests, no doubt waiting for her to rouse herself so they could all leave and join the funeral procession to the cemetery. The service had already ended, a pastor she didn't know from a church she had never attended saying a few comforting words to the small gathering. It had been awkward and, thankfully, short. And, were it not for Miss Jemima's insistence on footing the bill for a funeral, it wouldn't have happened at all. Abigail Simmons had never been very good at planning for the future, and that included funeral and burial arrangements.

Mika nodded and rose to her feet, Miss Jemima hovering protectively close as they proceeded to the exit. She paused just long enough to pluck a white lily from the single, large flower arrangement that had been delivered to the parlor, sent with condolences from an anonymous someone. The arrangement was beautiful and looked expensive and she wondered if they'd been sent to her mother's funeral by mistake. The types of people Abigail used to hang with weren't the types to send seven-hundred-dollar crystal vases of roses and lilies to funerals.

As she left the parlor, she noticed one man sitting by himself in the very back row, looking as out-of-place in his expensive, stylish clothes as the vase of flowers residing over her mother's picture. His features were Asian and when he met her gaze and nodded, his eyes soft with sympathy, Mika felt a strange sense of deja vu that she had seen him somewhere before.

"Do you know him?" she asked as she climbed into Jemima's beat-up Volkswagen. "Was he a friend of Mom's?"

"Never seen him before," the lady replied with a sniff. "He looks suspicious, though. Probably some debt collector crashin' your mama's party to try and weasel some money outta ya. Never you mind, honey. Her debts don't got nothin' to do with you."

Mika begged to differ; she'd been in charge of the finances for the past few years and knew very well what sort of struggles her mother had been under. When the insurance had cut out, they'd just kept piling up, the bills for medications and therapy and—in the really bad months—the short-term hospital stays that had always ended with Abigail checking herself out because she "felt better" and, really, without proper means of payment the place couldn't get rid of her fast enough. Mika might have been protected when she was a minor, but now that she'd turned eighteen, she had the feeling that the creditors wouldn't let things go without a fight. Indeed, she'd already received three different phone calls that she'd quickly hung up on when she realized what the callers wanted. Could she be held legally accountable for her mother's unpaid debts and medical bills? She didn't know and was, frankly, rather too exhausted to give a damn at the moment.

* * *

The graveyard was a long drive from the funeral home—all the way to the other side and several miles outside of town—and Abigail's gravestone, when they finally located it, looked small and plain with nothing but her name and the dates of her birth and death carved into the pale granite. It rested beside a larger stone that bore the names of her parents—grandparents that Mika had never met—and the plot of freshly-turned earth looked pitifully small beneath it. But a wooden urn holding nothing but ashes didn't need a large space. Mika stepped forward, knelt and propped the lily against her mother's headstone. It was longer than the stone was wide. "I hope you're finally happy, wherever you are," she whispered as she rose to her feet and brushed loose soil from the knees of her black jeans.

She felt rather bad for wearing jeans to a funeral—especially this one—but the few dresses she owned were far too brightly colored for the somber occasion. The gray pullover sweater she also wore at least kept her warm in the chilly, humid air. Task completed, she turned to wait for Miss Jemima to pay her last respects as well, and there she saw the Asian man again, standing a little way off and quietly waiting. As soon as she and Jemima left to go back to the car, he moved forward to also pay respects. Nobody else had stopped to visit the gravesite, although given the distance one could hardly blame them. Mika watched from the rearview window as the stranger knelt to add another lily and a deep red rose to her offering. She stared until he was out of sight, then finally turned around in her seat and pondered the mystery of his strange-yet-familiar face until they arrived at the reception hall for the final gathering.

* * *

The buffet wasn't anything special. No fancy spread of expensive foods. No catered meal. Just a few long tables set up with folding chairs in the meeting hall of a local fire station, the food nothing more than platters of cheese and meats, bread rolls, trays of fruits and vegetables. Stacks of throw-away plates and utensils piled on one end. A few large containers of various salads and bottles of soda and iced tea and styrofoam cups at the other. A shorter table held an assortment of cookies and pies and a small coffee station.

A few of the guests—mostly the former coworkers—complained about the simple "cheap" meal. Mika overheard but could hardly muster the energy to be offended. Miss Jemima also overheard and mustered enough energy to be offended for them _both_ as she bodily escorted the "freeloading ingrates" out of the hall amid protests and curses. The remaining guests clapped and cheered when she returned and the mood took a turn for the lighthearted.

Mika smiled at her guardian and leaned into her broad shoulder when she sat down and was rewarded with a one-armed hug. "It's almost over, honey. Just a little longer now."

She barely heard; her attention had riveted on the Asian man who had just taken a seat in the chair directly across from her. This close, she could see he was handsome. Kind eyes and a soft smile. A thin beard and glossy hair that managed to look scruffy yet stylish at once. His clothes were indeed expensive, as was the hint of cologne that teased her nose when he leaned closer, hands folded on the table. "Hello, young lady. Might you be Mika Simmons, by chance?" he asked in softly-accented English. Japanese, Mika realized. His nationality was Japanese. Belatedly recalling his question, she mutely nodded.

He nodded back as if confirming something to himself. "As I thought," he murmured. "You look so much like her. You have her beautiful blue eyes." He leaned back in his seat again, studying her.

Mika exchanged a confused glance with Jemima, who still looked suspicious but held her tongue. "I'm … sorry. Did you … know my mother?" she asked, hesitant. "You look familiar, so I was wondering if we'd met…"

"Ah, no." He released a rather awkward chuckle and rubbed the back of his neck. "Or, I should say, you were far too young to remember me then. But I did meet you once and I know your mother very well. She was … a close friend of mine."

Mika nodded, a silent request for him to continue. He sighed heavily. "This is a bit more awkward than I'd anticipated," he said dryly. "I hardly know where to begin."

"Well, honey, you might begin with the simple courtesy of telling us your _name_ ," Jemima cut in dryly. Mika nudged her sharply in the side. She proceeded to look unimpressed.

"Ah!" His eyes widened almost comically as he pushed his chair back a bit and gave a hasty yet polite little bow. "I apologize for my lack of manners," he replied. "My name is Hinata. Rintaro Hinata. And, it may be a bit of a shock, but I am yo—"

"—Father," Mika gasped sharply, for she recognized the name the moment she heard it and his face clicked into place in her mind; the image of a single, crinkled up photograph that her mother would often pull out to either coo over or scream obscenities at, depending on that day's mood. She leaned back in her chair, head reeling as the grainy image coalesced into the living, breathing man seated before her.

"You—That can't—Are you truly—Y-you're my _father_?"


	2. Two

"You're bein' foolish, bringin' that man back to your place," Miss Jemima sniffed as she drove through town, headed home from the reception. "You don't know Rinto Hinstata from Adam!"

"It's _Rintaro Hinata_ and he's my _father_ ," Mika sighed. "He flew all the way from Japan to attend Mom's funeral and to introduce himself to me. He was even kind enough to stay afterward and help us put the tables and chairs away and clean up. The least I can do is hear him out."

"And you don't find it at all suspicious, him showin' up outta the blue like this after eighteen years of nuthin'? And your mama tellin' you he was dead and all?" Jemima pressed, lips pursed into a stubborn pout.

Mika considered this as she idly pushed a few strands of long black hair that had escaped their bun behind her ear. "Abigail told me a lot of things about my dad, and a good many of them were voiced during her rages. She told me he was dead, she told me he hates me and doesn't want anything to do with us, she told me he's a convict wanted for murder in three different countries, and she told me he's a world-famous adventurer and would someday come back and take us away on a fantastic journey…" She trailed off and shrugged helplessly. "I'm not inclined to believe _any_ of it, honestly. This is the same woman who was convinced the cockroaches under our kitchen sink were really tiny, hopping people in disguise, after all."

Jemima snorted. "Shoulda never let her watch that movie."

"It was a kids' film! Who knew it'd set her off like that?" Mika shrugged again. "Anyway. It would be nice to hear the truth straight from the source."

"You may not like what he's got to say," Jemima warned.

"No, and I know he may end up just disappearing again as soon as he's said it. But the fact that he's _here_ suggests a certain level of interest, doesn't it?"

Jemima just grunted, unconvinced, and turned off the main road onto one of the narrower side streets. At this time of day there was plenty of parking along the curb, but once the bar they lived above opened, the streets would be packed for blocks with the vehicles of incoming patrons.

Mika got out of the VW Bug and frowned as she watched a black BMW pull up to the curb behind them. Rintaro got out, his expression carefully neutral as he took in the surroundings. Mika could only imagine what he was thinking. For the first time, she felt some doubt over bringing him here. A guy like him didn't belong in a shithole apartment located above a seedy bar in the worst part of town. A guy like him could very well end up on the wrong side of a mugging if he wasn't careful. And if he didn't leave here with at least half the parts stripped right off that fancy Beamer, she'd eat her sweater.

"Maybe we should talk somewhere … safer," she suggested delicately. "I'd hate for anything to happen to your car."

Rintaro glanced at said car, unconcerned. "It's just a rental."

Jemima snorted. Mika nudged her. "Well, it's this way." She gestured awkwardly toward the bar and led him along the side of the building toward the back entrance, where a rickety flight of steps led up to the double-complex that housed the two separate units where she and Jemima lived.

As she unlocked her door, she tried frantically to remember whether she'd left dirty dishes all over the counter or if she'd put them in the sink. Was the bag of clean laundry she had yet to fold and put away still sitting in the middle of the living room? She knew it had been awhile since she'd done any actual cleaning up of the place. The fold-away bed she slept in was still opened, she suddenly recalled, sheets rumpled and at least one pillow on the floor, exactly the way she'd left it that morning. After all, why bother wrestling the heavy beast back into a couch anymore? Abigail was no longer there to yell at her for letting it take up most of the tiny living room…

She snapped on the light and winced when she took in the mess, trying to see it through the eyes of a wealthy and elegant stranger. It was stuffy inside; only an idiot would dare leave a window cracked when they were gone in _this_ part of town. She kicked aside a worn pair of sneakers—her mother's—and beckoned Rintaro inside. By unspoken agreement, Miss Jemima continued into her own apartment, mumbling about feeding Mungo, her cat.

"Sorry for the mess," Mika mumbled as she nudged an embarrassingly large pile of unpaid bills further behind the ancient box television on the kitchenette's counter, reminding herself to Deal With Them Later. She'd been telling herself to Deal With Them for the past three months now, ever since her mom had gone from manic-depressive to straight-out manic, but she had yet to actually get around to it. Well, it was difficult to pay bills when one could barely scrape enough money together for cheap groceries every week. Abigail's piddling savings account was already halfway depleted and the checking had been pretty much emptied by this point. Mika had some money set aside, but the four-hundred dollars a week she earned from her part-time job didn't allow her to save much since most of it went into keeping up with Abigail's unceasing medical bills. She expected the phone and power to be shut off any day now, but at least she had managed to get the rent paid up until April.

She watched as Rintaro removed a pile of junk mail from one of the two battered kitchen chairs and made himself comfortable. For the first time, she noticed the large crystal vase he'd carried in with him as he set it on the table and straightened several skewed blooms.

"Th-those were from you?" she asked, astonished.

"Yes. From the family. I thought you might like to keep them," he replied.

She blinked. "Family…?"

He hummed and scratched his chin. "I suppose there's quite a bit I need to tell you," he began slowly. "In truth, I hardly know where to start."

"Well…" Mika sat down on the other chair, the one with the too-short leg that wobbled with every movement. She reached down to shove the piece of folded-up cardboard back under the bum leg. "Maybe you could start with what you're _doing_ here. How did you even know that Abigail had died? Have you been … keeping tabs on us or something?"

He sat for a moment, then reached into his coat—which was probably worth enough to pay Mika's rent for the rest of the _year_ —and withdrew a business envelope. He slid it across the chipped laminate table toward her, expression once again composed. "Go ahead and read it."

She glanced at the envelope and startled. She _knew_ that chicken-scratch handwriting. Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked it up, noted the date that had been postmarked in the corner. "A-Abigail sent this to you. How did she know where to find you?"

Rintaro scratched his chin. "Well, I'm not difficult to find, really. She had it delivered by courier to one of the Tokyo offices that publish my photos. I suppose the editor deemed it important enough to make sure I received it. I didn't come immediately, though. I needed to make sure it was true so I … had an investigator look into it."

"Look into…" Mika chewed on her lip. "I don't think I understand…"

He hummed. "She didn't tell you she'd written me?" He shook his head, though, in answer to his own question. "No, I could tell by your shock at first seeing me that you had no idea I was coming."

"She … _asked_ you to come?" That was definitely news to her!

Rintaro nodded at the envelope. "Read it," he urged. "It should properly explain several things, such as my absence in your life all this time."

Frowning, Mika pulled a thin packet of papers from the envelope and unfolded them. There was a letter scrawled on a ripped piece of notebook paper, written in her mother's hand. Her eyes narrowed as she slowly read over the words, trying to make sense of them; Abigail's penmanship had always been difficult to decipher. "In this she's telling you … that I'm your daughter." She shook her head, thoroughly confused. "I don't—Did you not already know that?"

Rintaro sighed and folded his hands atop the table, leaning in. "I loved Abigail, but she was … not an easy person to be with." He ignored Mika's derisive snort. "She didn't like that I traveled so much for my work, although she knew from the very beginning that the jobs I took were important to me. Traveling and photography have always been my life's pursuits. But she eventually became … suspicious. Demanding. She was always convinced I was off having some affair in another country, using my projects as cover."

"And were you?" Mika cut in.

He shook his head. "While we were together, I was always faithful to your mother. I never strayed. And when I discovered she was pregnant I was thrilled to think I would be a father. But it seemed as if the pregnancy made her more … volatile. Her mental state was never very stable to start with, but with the added hormones… Her behavior became more and more erratic and I became concerned that she would hurt the baby. Hurt _you_. So I had her hospitalized so she could be watched more closely. Neither of us had family or close friends to keep an eye on her if the pregnancy became too difficult."

He sighed heavily. "Perhaps I was wrong to do this, but at the time it felt like I had no choice. All the same, it ended our relationship for good. I packed my things and went back to Japan."

Mika's eyes widened. "You mean you just _abandoned_ her there? Left her all by herself?"

He lowered his head but not before she saw his guilty wince. "I realize what a poor choice that was, but she wanted nothing to do with me at that point. I thought maybe distance might help us to both cool our tempers. Or maybe I was just running away. Either way, when I finally returned, hoping to make amends, you had already been born."

Mika didn't say anything for several moments as she processed the story. "Well," she began slowly, "that certainly explains why she hated you so much…" Her brow furrowed. "But it doesn't explain why, if you came back, you went and left us again."

Rintaro pressed his folded hands to his forehead as he lowered his head. "Because Abigail insisted that you were not my daughter."

"…And you _believed_ her?"

He huffed a short laugh. "Whether I did or not is beside the point. She'd listed another man's name on your birth certificate, James Carson. Legally, he's your father. And since Abigail insisted I go back to Japan and leave you both alone, that's what I did. I was just relieved to know that you were being taken care of." He hesitated, then asked, "What has happened to that man? Why isn't he here?"

Mika squirmed. "I'm—Well, he still _is_ … technically," she began, hesitant. Trying to explain the circumstances surrounding James Carson was … tricky. Not a lot of people were particularly accepting. "You've met him, you see. Just today. Only, well… He prefers to use the name Jemima and a female identity. Legally, she's still James Carson but nobody who knows her calls her that."

She paused and waited for Rintaro's reaction.

What she got was confusion. "But, Jemima-San is…"

"Black?" she finished dryly.

A slow nod. "Surely, anyone could see there's no physical resemblance between you. You resemble me far more than her."

"Clearly. But Abigail needed someone and Jemima was there for her. She offered protection and a home." Mika thought for a moment. "I'm not … really sure how they met. I think it might have been at a hospital, maybe a month or two before I was born. But Miss Jemima sort of … adopted us both and—I have _no_ idea what Abigail told her about you, but Jemima let her put her legal name on my birth certificate. And she's helped Abigail to raise me until I was old enough to take care of myself. We _both_ took care of my mother when things got bad. Miss Jemima is… She's more of a mother to me than Abigail ever was. But she and Abigail were as close as sisters. Even at her worst, Jemima stuck by her and didn't just _leave_ her." Mika couldn't keep the reproach from her tone and Rintaro flinched again. "We're the only family Jemima has, too."

He contemplated this. "May I ask," he began after a few moments, "why you call your mother by name?"

Now it was Mika's turn to flinch. She'd gotten plenty of disapproving looks from folks who'd overheard her addressing Abigail by her given name in the past; even today, as she'd given a short eulogy (that she could barely even remember now), she'd gotten one or two reproachful looks from guests when she'd thanked them for attending _Abigail's_ funeral, not her mother's. But she had her reasons. She just didn't like to talk about them.

"On my tenth birthday," she began slowly, "when I woke up, Abigail was cooking bacon and eggs. It was a birthday treat, you see, because I always cooked breakfast and it was normally instant oatmeal and toast. So I hugged her and said 'Thanks, Mom!' and the next thing I know, she's coming at me with a hot skillet, grease splashing all over my arms as she screamed at me not to call her that, _nobody_ call her that, she's Abigail and nobody's mom."

Mika smiled grimly as she drew the sleeves up on her sweater, revealing the faint scars gracing the length of her outer forearms. She crossed them and held them up to her face, as though protecting her head from an unseen attacker, before lowering them to rest on the table. Rintaro gaped at her, stunned and horrified.

"I spent my birthday in the ICU, being treated for second degree burns and bruising on both arms from the hot bacon grease and the skillet. She'd also managed to clip me in the head but luckily the grease didn't burn my scalp badly through my hair. Had a good-sized goose egg and a slight concussion, though." Realizing she'd made him sufficiently uncomfortable, Mika pulled her sleeves down again and sat back. "To this day, I have no idea what set her off. Although she'd started a new medication around that time so I suspect it reacted badly with something else she was already taking. The doctors always tell you not to mix medications, right? This is probably one of the reasons why."

"You didn't press charges?" Rintaro asked.

"And risk me getting stuck in foster care? Jemima might be my legal father but social services would've pulled me from home for certain. A ten-year-old living with a crazy mom above a bar? Besides, it wasn't her fault. Not really." She smiled slightly. "When Miss Jemima drove me home, Abigail was waiting for me with a cake and presents as if nothing had ever happened. I'm not sure if she actually forgot or if she was just trying to pretend she hadn't put her own daughter in the hospital. But ever since then I've always called her Abigail. Just seemed a lot safer."

Rintaro released a deep, unsteady breath and Mika wondered if she should have been so honest about the incident. He looked a little ill. She was just about to offer him a glass of water or maybe some orange juice (she didn't think it had gone bad yet) when he sat forward and gave her a long, searching look.

"I came here because I wanted to meet you, once I learned the truth. I wish I could have come sooner, but it took awhile to get the results back."

Her brow furrowed. "Results?"

He nodded at the papers in her hand; she set the letter aside to examine the other forms. "I don't know… What am I looking at?"

"It's a DNA test that she had done. She sent the results to me. I have no idea where she got a sample of my DNA after so many years…"

Mika did. Probably from the box of personal items she'd discovered shoved into the back of her mother's closet. A few old shirts, a half-empty bottle of expensive cologne … and a hairbrush and grooming tools. She'd probably gotten samples from something there.

"Anyway," Rintaro continued, "I had the results investigated, to make sure the test was legitimate." His expression saddened. "It wasn't until I got the report back and tried to contact Abigail that I learned she had died. I left immediately to come for you. I'm truly sorry for your loss."

Mika fixed on his odd wording, frowning. " _Come_ for me?" she repeated.

He hesitated. "I came here because, as you _are_ my daughter and as I'm the only family you have now … I was hoping to convince you to return to Japan with me."

She sputtered, words failing. "Return to—But you—I can't just—We don't even _know_ each other!"

"Yes. And that is as much _my_ failing as it was your mother's." He bowed low in his seat. "We have already lost eighteen years of time due to this … misunderstanding. I wasn't there to help you when you needed it and I should have been. I wish more than anything to make up for that."

Mika struggled to think. "This is—I can't just—"

"I will give you some time to think it over, of course. Please consider my offer carefully."

"H-how much time?"

"I'll be in the city until the end of the week. Then I must return. I hope you'll be with me." He slid a small business card across the table. "This is my contact information and I've written the name and room number of my hotel on the back. Please get in touch."

Numb, Mika reached to take the card, then hesitated. "Before, you mentioned a f-family," she reminded him. "How would I…? I mean, do they even know about me?"

He nodded. "When I realized the test was legitimate and accurate, I first spoke with Miwa-san—my wife—and together we discussed the matter with our children."

" _Ch-children?_ " Mika's eyes widened.

He responded with a small smile and a nod. "You have a younger sister. And thirteen brothers of varying ages. I should perhaps not call them children as most of them are fully grown by now."

"Boy, you sure didn't waste any time," Mika mumbled, before realizing how _rude_ that sounded. "Uh, sorry. I—"

He waved off her apology, chuckling. "No, your reaction is perfectly understandable," he assured her. "In truth, Asahina Miwa-san is someone whom I married only a little while ago. It hasn't even been a year yet. All of the sons in the household are my step-sons."

"And … and the daughter?"

His expression softened. "Ema-chan is my daughter by adoption," he explained. "A year or so after my last parting with your mother, I met a young couple who had a baby girl. But this couple died, one after the other, leaving their baby orphaned. I decided to take her in, raise her as my own. I thought at the time that doing this might help to ease the ache of losing my birth daughter through my own foolishness."

Mika listened quietly, thoughtful. "There would … be a lot I'd need to do before I even consider leaving the country," she finally said. "I'd have to turn in my notice for my job, and what should I do about all the hospital bills—"

"You need not worry about them. They've all been paid in full," Rintaro immediately interjected.

Again, Mika was floored. "Wait, but—Why would—There are several thousand dollars worth of—"

He held up a hand to stop her. "Think of it as me paying you those eighteen years of child support I should have been sending. If you'll give me those stacks of bills behind the TV, I'll see to it that they're all paid off, as well."

Mika flushed, not sure whether to feel grateful or embarrassed. "I can't ask you to do that," she mumbled. "It's not right. You're practically a stranger!"

"I know. And I wish to remedy that. And I won't do for you any less than I'd do for my other children should they ever be in need."

"But it's so much money…"

"Trust me." He offered a wry smile. "I can afford it."

Somehow, Mika didn't doubt that.


End file.
